


No Place Like Home

by WriteItSmall (scribblemyname)



Series: Comment Fic LiveJournal Stories [87]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Memory, Moving, Partnership, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2344865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/WriteItSmall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clint." Natasha's voice dropped in that slightly disappointed sound he hated. "What address did you send these to?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



> Prompt by tigriswolf: [author's choice, author's choice, losing track of the correct address because they've lived so many places](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/557453.html?thread=78370701#t78370701)

"Where are my ballet slippers?" Natasha's voice echoes from the bedroom where she's sorting through the boxes SHIELD posted to their latest European address.  
  
Clint glances up from the packing list he's going over on the counter. "Should be in Box #22." He eyed over the list carefully, satisfied when all seemed in order.  
  
Natasha appeared in the doorway looking frazzled and worn and ready for a break.  
  
He passed her a water bottle.  
  
"There is no box #22," she said before taking it.  
  
"I'm sure there is." He flipped through the sheets. "See. Right here."  
  
Natasha frowned at the list and ran her finger over the boxes she'd set up to ship, then the ones he had. "Clint." Her voice dropped in that slightly disappointed sound he hated. "What address did you send these to? I didn't see any of these boxes."  
  
"I know my own address," he groused.  
  
Her look cut him no slack, a sure indication of just how tired she was. "Last year, you shipped the piano to Tokyo."  
  
"We were going to be in Tokyo," he reminded her.  
  
"But not with a piano," she reminded him back and raised an eyebrow.  
  
Clint shrugged and mumbled off the address he'd used.  
  
She groaned.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That was the place we used last time we were here." Natasha shook her head, expression fond, and picked up the phone. "I'll call Coulson and try to catch the movers. Order dinner."  
  
All forgiven, he switched to the telephone book. "Pizza."  
  
"Real dinner," she called over her shoulder.  
  
"Pizza." He dialed and grinned at her annoyed expression as Coulson picked up and stopped her from answering.


End file.
